SH: A Crown of Thorns
by BetweenheavenandHell
Summary: Your God is dead, faith cannot help you, the only path lies in sorrow and the strength of one man's sadness


**Silent Hill: A Crown of Thorns**

Disclaimer: I own do not own or profit from the Silent Hill franchise, I just thread delicately amongst the nightmare realms given voice by Konami in hope of inspiring a little fear of my own

Author Note: ACOT is an original fanfiction, note, this will not supersede my novelisations to any great degree, indeed I expect it to help get the creative juices flowing so to speak… This fiction has haunted me for to long… now it's your turn…

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Prologue: The End 

She took a deep breath of the icy air. Luxuriating in the way it bit into her lungs with crystal purity, stroking her exposed skin with frosty tendrils, but she didn't mind the shudders.

Slowly she opened her eyes, just to confirm what she had seen before closing them. The mist shrouded streets were still there, quiet and unassuming, free of any visible danger. The fog no longer felt suffocating, or malignant, it just _was_.

She raised her hands to her face, staring at them with child-like interest, noting the strange patterns the drying blood that coated her from fingertip to elbow made as it began to loose its viscous nature.

She was alive

She laughed for a long time, a laugh of pure joy streaked with tears, she was alive…

Her energy spent she lapsed into fitful giggles, not caring how she flaunted madness in each uncontrolled burst. The fact that she could even think after… that… had earned her the right to a little madness in her opinion.

A dark wave obscured her vision, momentarily panicking her until she felt the familiar tickle which told her it was just her long, grimy, dishevelled hair having fallen forward as she let her head drop after her laughing fit.

She leant her head back against the building she was resting against, pushing her raven tresses aside and taking another deep breath of wonderfully clean air.

She looked down at her torn blouse and jeans, now both a dirty brown with occasional red patches. It did bother her at all, something that would have been unheard of a few months ago.

The aid of the wall that was already propping her up where she sat enabled her to make her shaky way to her feet.

She was happy that her legs didn't spend more than a few minutes trying to sit her back down with painful cramps; she wanted to leave this place as soon as possible.  
Staggering drunkard like down the street, stopping every now and again to catch herself on a post box or lamppost, the dark haired young woman pushed on, her weary eyes locked on the looming shadow in the fog ahead.

After a small eternity she could finally see it, the age beaten sign that towered above her, welcoming people to this place with rustic charm.

She snorted contemptuously at it, as if it could be wounded by her dislike and lowered her eyes back to the road ahead.

There was something slumped against the pole that held the sign aloft, something man shaped and naked, shivering in the fridged air. Something topped by an almost wild mane of blond hair that she recognised instantly.

Walking cautiously, a fear she couldn't explain screaming at her to ignore the figure and run, she made her way over to him.

Stopping a few feet away she tried to figure out if he was alive or not. His body wasn't shivering in the cold, in fact it was dangerously pale and she couldn't be sure from this distance whether or not his chest was moving.

She hovered in indecision, eying the road out of town and licking her lips nervously. If this was who she believed, could she really just leave him here like this?

Reluctantly, as if her body were fighting the decision, she closed the last few feet, one shaky hand reaching out push his hair away from his face.

A hand lanced out, a cold, pallid hand, seizing her wrist tightly.

She tried to break free reflexively, her futile struggles dislodging the small red box secured to her belt. It struck the ground lightly, somehow landing at the exact angle needed to depress the small black button on one end.

The pocket radio sprang to life with an ear piercing wail of static and mechanised terror.

Slowly the man rose his head to face her.

From somewhere in her mind she heard someone scream…

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This story is being taken over by another author, she will post updates from now on

NB: Continuation upon reviews.


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